Frontlines
by MischiefMalfoys
Summary: Nations are forged and shaped by vicious cycles of war, but that doesn't mean the horrors of it get any easier to endure. A collection of one-shots/drabbles set during the World Wars and the things countries endured for the sake of their people and each other. Semi-Historical!Hetalia Rated T for Violence, Language, and Sensitive Material. Reviews are much appreciated!
1. The Fall of France

**Warnings for this chapter: Violence, Sensitive Material (Hitler, Nazism, etc.)**

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><p>Francis has never felt sicker in his entire life.<p>

Right now, as he sat in this office, surrounded by dreary gray cement walls, he felt _disgusting. _He could feel it in his heart, these... These _demons_ marching on his land, terrorizing his people -

And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.

If the French nation had anything in his stomach to vomit out, he was sure he would have done so already. Alas, there was none, so he settled for clawing at the wooden table before him. Normally bright blue eyes became as hard as chips of ice - He had given up so easily and he felt pathetic. He _didn't _want to - Oh god, he would have done anything but surrender to those Nazi _connards - _But what could he have done? After Dunkirk, his soldiers were weary, their supplies were short, and the German army was closing in fast. There was simply not enough time.

Francis almost laughed. Maybe he should have seen it coming - After all, it was none other than _Gilbert, _the nation who knew nothing but war and battles, and his brother Ludwig who were spearheading this war. Once upon a time, Francis called the Prussian his friend. He spat on the floor in disgust - Some friend he was.

The sound of the door creaking open caught the nation's attention. A German soldier, dressed pristinely in his SS uniform, held the door open before his hand flew up to his head in an automatic salute. "_He moves like a fucking robot," _Francis sneered in his mind. When he turned his attention back to the door, his eyes widened in surprise. Two familiar looking officers stepped inside, also dressed in the black uniform, the dreaded red band that held the twisted symbol clasped to their right arms. He didn't pay much heed to the blue eyed one, but he made every effort to keep making eye contact with the other man with the red eyes.

Francis stared at Gilbert as if he could burn holes into him, but the Prussian did not so much as cast a gaze at him. _Coward - _the French man growled in his mind, resisting the urge to get up from where he sat and pick his 'old friend' up by the collar and slam him against the wall. He would love to tell him _exactly _what he thought about his little _Fuhrer -_

"So this is the personification of _Frankreich_,"

Speak of the devil. Francis felt his blood boil as he looked up at the newest visitor that entered the room. The soldier that had held open the door slammed it shut, leaving only him, Gilbert, Ludwig and the devil himself in the tiny room.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the man greeted with a falsely polite smile, extending a hand for him to shake. Francis could feel his stomach twisting into a knot. If he was crazy enough, he would have lunged at the man and strangled him to death - But one look at the gleam of the pistols holstered at each of the brothers' belts told him that it wouldn't end well for him. Instead he glared at the hand that was offered, before raising his gaze to look at the man Europe feared.

"Hmm," the Fuhrer of Germany mused, taking his hand back, "You failed to mention that _Herr Bonnefoy _isn't much of a talker, Gilbert."

Was he hallucinating or did the bastard actually sound amused? Francis didn't know. He looked at the Prussian who obediently stood guard by the door, not uttering a word. "_Ja. Mein Fuhrer." _He finally responded, but that's all that he said. Apparently it was enough to appease his leader.

"_Keine Sorgen," _the dictator waved off. _No worries my ass, _Francis mentally snarled. "After _Herr Bonnefoy _has done his part, he won't have to talk much after."

"What part?" Francis rasped out, surprising even himself by how hoarse his voice sounded. "I didn't agree to do anything,"

"It's not much, _Herr Bonnefoy,_" Germany's boss said in a tone that suggested he was asking a friendly favour from the defeated country. "We simply need you to say a few words..."

Before Francis could say something back, the door opened again and a soldier stepped in carrying a small radio set up with him. The young man set the equipment on the desk, angling the microphone towards him. "What is this?"

"A victory isn't truly a victory until it has been announced, is it now?" A sickening smirk curled up the man's moustached face.

"_Vous pouves aller a mon chef pour que vous salaud," _Francis snapped deliberately in French, relishing in the sharp intakes of breath that went around the room.

"_Herr Bonnefoy," _the dictator said, his polite tone now lined with a growl, "In case you haven't noticed, there are _Germans _on your land now. I advise you to speak in _Deutsch _or if you're truly incompetent, in _Englisch_. _Habin wir uns verstanden?" _When the nation didn't respond, he took this as a cue to continue, "_Ludwig, ihm sagen was wir woller, dass er zu sagen."_

Dutifully, the younger German nation stood forward, his piercing blue gaze settled on Francis. "_Frankreich, _you are ordered to declare your unconditional surrunder unto the German forces and your withdrawal from the war."

"W-WHAT?!"

The clatter of a chair could be heard as the French nation abruptly rose from his chair, now towering over the shorter dictator. "I will say no such thing!"

"The armistice has been signed, Francis," Gilbert spoke from his post with... Was that regret in his tone? "Your leader has already surrendered,"

"All we need for you to do now is to make it official," the leader smirked, "It's one thing to hear it from the leader of a country, but quite another to hear it from the personification... _Ja?"_

Francis couldn't believe what he was hearing. His boss signed an armistice? They had already been defeated for good? No. It wasn't real. It can't be. It just can't be. Without him, Arthur would have to fight this monster alone. He can't. He can't just give up and leave him! "_Non," _he muttered with as much conviction as he could.

"I'm sorry?"

"_Je l'ai dit," _Francis spoke louder and slower this time, as if he was talking to a dumb child. After what he had heard, he didn't give two fucks anymore. The only thing that would make him feel at least a little bit better at this point was to insult this motherfucker like crazy, _"Non,"_

The next thing Francis knew, a white hot pain seared through his face and the wind was knocked out of him. He bowed his head down, tasting the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth. A fist grabbed his shirt collar until he was eye to eye with the dictator, "_Deutsch oder Englisch Sie verzogern," _he snarled_, _spit flying onto Francis' face. _"Ist es schwer zu verstehen?!"_

"_Non, pas du tout," _the French man managed a smirk despite the fact that it hurt to do so. "_Je ne vais pas abandonner-" _He growled, staring the man down, "_Je ne prends pas les ordres d'un salud nazi comme vous!"_

Francis grunted as another punch made contact with his jaw. He yelped when he felt himself be grabbed by the hair and his head painfully met with the hard wooden desk. Again and again, he was rammed against it until it finally stopped and the metallic taste filled his mouth. His vision had started to be filled with black spots and he felt himself get yanked up by the hair again and have his face thrust towards the microphone.

"_SANGEN, DASS ES!"_

"_N-Non!" _he still managed to choke out. In response, he felt his head collide against the desk again, this time landing in a warm pool of his own blood, breathing heavy. He heard the bastard yell out Gilbert's name while he still tried to raise himself off the table. Blue eyes widened in shock when he heard the cocking of a pistol right by his head and when he looked, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun, his old best friend standing behind it, finger on the trigger.

Despite the rage he was feeling at the moment, he still tried to scan those ruby red eyes for some sign of mercy or regret or anything close to that. Gilbert's eyes had always been the thing to betray what he was truly feeling but when Francis looked into them, they were unreadable and hard. "_Tun Sie es einfach, Francis," _the Prussian said in an even tone - neither pleased nor repulsed - _"Es wird leichter sein, dass Weise."_

"_Qui est insultant venant de cous, la Prusse," _Francis scoffed, "You honestly think I would just give up that easily? _Qu'auriez-vous fait? Ce qui serait un Grand Frederick sur vous si vous avez abandonne?!"_

"_HALT DEN MUND!" _

Gilbert growled, pressing the barrel of the gun up against the blonde's head. Francis knew he had hit a nerve as soon as he brought up the Prussian's beloved king. Half of him felt triumphant, and yet the other half felt terrible. For a moment he saw a flicker of realization pass through those red eyes and Francis felt the tip of the gun retract from his skull a bit, "_Tun Sie es einfach," _he repeated even more sternly. The triumphant smile slowly melted from Francis' face as he continued to stare into those eyes as they became readable once more, reading the one word that he couldn't say in front of his superior:

_Please._

"I suggest you follow _Kommandant _Bielschmidt, _Frankereich," _the dictator growled again in a tone that suggested he was back to being pleasant but was losing patience quickly. "It would be in your and your people's best interest if you cooperate."

"_Non!"_

"Francis, be reasonable-"

"_Je ne veux pas faire ca_!"

"Do it!"

"_NON!"_

"FRANCIS-!"

"I WON'T!" _._

In the heat of the moment, Francis batted gun away .He felt someone slap his head from the side and he collided with the cement wall behind him, slumping to the ground in a bloody mess. Breathing ragged, Francis managed to turn his head up and see Ludwig towering over him. The younger German reached out to grab him but he saw another hand intercept it. Gilbert bent down to where he was and took hold of his collar, though his grip was noticeably more lax than his boss'.

"Stop being stubborn," he whispered harshly, though judging by Gilbert's eyes, the tone was for show. Why was helping him?

"I won't surrender," Francis spat back acidly, "Not now, not ever!"

"Francis-" Gilbert's grip on his collar grew tighter as the other nation lifted him above the ground a couple of inches, "I'm trying to save your ass here. Just do as you're told and your people will be fine."

"I'd rather die than obey you fucking Nazis!"

"Francis, swear to _Gott, _you don't want to-"

"I think talking to him won't work anymore, Gilbert," the dictator's smooth tone came. Francis was all but ready to let lose another spew of French insults, but one look at the Prussian's mortified expression told him that something bad was about to happen. "_Ludwig, geben ihnen den Auftrag,_"

"_M-Mein Fuhrer!"_

Ludwig froze in his spot, surprised that his brother of all people objected to their commanding officer. He looked between his brother and his leader. "_Gehen, Ludwig." _He said, his eyes not leaving the older German nation still crouched beside their French prisoner. What was once angry resolve has now crumbled into nothing but cold fear in Francis' chest. "Gilbert, _Herr Bonnefoy_ has made his choice. If he doesn't want to talk, well then we have to resort to... Other methods."

Gilbert's jaw hung slightly open for a minute before he appeared to regain his composure and stood up. Like a dutiful soldier, he stood back, eyes back to being hard and unreadable. "_Ja, Mein Fuhrer." _he responded mechanically.

Francis could feel panic surging through his system as he looked between his stone faced friend and the smirking Nazi leader. "W-Wha-?!" He didn't have time to complete his sentence before a gunshot resonated through the air and almost immediately after, a searing pain soared through the country's chest.

Screams of women and children could be heard, followed by more gunshots - One right after the other, each one making the French nation cry out in pain. His people... His precious, innocent people - Were being gunned down because _he _wouldn't surrender. Tears escaped his eyes as another shot was heard and another explosion of hurt wracked his senses. He couldn't give up. If he said the words, he might as well just hand them all over to die at these pigs' hands... But if he didn't, how many more people would they keep shooting out there?!

The country coughed, sending a spray of fresh blood all over the floor. It was all over, wasn't it. It was done. _He _was done. Whatever fighting spirit he had, it was completely gone from him now.

When he felt a hand yank him up by the arm, he didn't protest anymore. Gilbert sat him back down on the chair and stood guard beside him. The dreaded Fuhrer walked towards him before flicking on the switch on the radio set and angling the mic towards him once more.

"I'm glad you came to see things our way, _Herr _Bonnefoy," he purred. Francis wanted to kill himself right then and there, "Now, what was it you wanted to say?"

Francis turned his blue eyes to the mic before him. He had no strength to fight. He thought about Arthur... About Alfred and oh, his little Mattheiu. Gulping down the sob that threatened to escape his throat, he reached out a shaky hand and brought the mic closer to his lips. He felt empty inside, like he had nothing left to live for. This was the end. By saying what he was about to say, he was about to sentence himself to death.

"I..."

_Arthur, I'm so sorry._

"Francis Bonnefoy, the country of France,"

_I tried so hard to fight them. And I failed. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..._

"Hereby announce -"

_It's up to you now, Angleterre... Take care of our boys, please. I'm so sorry,_

"Our unconditional surrender to Germany."

_Forgive me._

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><p><strong>Well, that was dark. Haven't written a piece like this in a while, but here you go! This is the first of many (hopefully) one-shots that I'm going to write, mainly centering around the FACE family with occasional appearances by other characters. I hope that I'm historically correct for the most part! Reviews are always much appreciated! <strong>

_Translations for what they're saying: (Forgive me for any mistakes, I'm only starting to learn German and French, most of these were translated with Google Translate!)_

_**Connards - **_

_Bastards_

_**Keine Sorgen **__- _

_No worries_

_**Vous pouves aller a mon chef pour que vous salaud**__ - _

_Talk to my boss about that, bastrad._

_**Habin wir uns verstanden**__ -_

_Are we clear?_

_**Ludwig, ihm sagen was wir woller, dass er zu sagen**__.-_

_Ludwig, tell him what we want him to say._

_**Je l'ai dit **__-_

_I said_

"_**Deutsch oder Englisch Sie verzogern,**__" _

_German or English you retard,_

"_**Ist es schwer zu verstehen?!"**_

_Is it hard to understand?!_

_**Non, pas du tout -**_

_Not at all_

"_**Je ne vais pas abandonner-" **_

_I will not surrender_

"_**Je ne prends pas les ordres d'un salud nazi comme vous!"**_

_I don't take orders from a Nazi bastard like you_

"_**SANGEN, DASS ES!"**_

_Say It_

"_**Tun Sie es einfach, Francis,"**_

_Just do it, Francis_

"_**Es wird leichter sein, dass Weise."**_

_It will be easier that way._

"_**Qui est insultant venant de cous, la Prusse,"**_

_That's insulting coming from you, Prussia_

_**Qu'auriez-vous fait? Ce qui serait un Grand Frederick sur vous si vous avez abandonne?!"**_

"_What would you have done? What would Frederick the Great say if you gave up?!"_

"_**HALT DEN MUND!" **_

"_Shut up"_

"_**Je ne veux pas faire ca!"**_

_I won't do it!_

"_**Ludwig, geben ihnen den Auftrag,"**_

_Ludwig, give the order._

"_**Gehen, Ludwig"**_

_Go, Ludwig._


	2. The London Blitz

**Warnings: Graphic depictions of stuff blowing up... Other than that, not much!**_  
><em>

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><p><em>The city center was a lively place, as usual. Store vendors yelled from their stalls, trying to entice people and have a look at what they have to sell; Children, with toy planes in their hands ran by, imitating the sound of engines revving and guns shooting, while their mothers walked behind them. As he walked through the busy streets, Arthur just couldn't help but wonder - In the midst of the war that was slowly starting to unfold all around them, people could still carry on with their normal lives and act like it was just an ordinary day. <em>

_As much as it both confused and awed the country's personification, he didn't complain. After all, it was these people's smiles - their laughter, their joy - That gives him the strength to endure whatever horrors happened beyond their borders. He would protect these people with everything that he had He'd be damned if he let a single Nazi bastard lay a finger on -_

"_Ow!"_

_Arthur was pulled out of this thoughts when he felt someone bump into his leg. Looking down, his gaze settled on a young boy with a head of messy blonde hair, sitting on the ground and rubbing his head, "He looks so much like Alfred," the Brit mused in his mind before his eyes caught sight of a toy plane that had been dropped to the side._

_Smiling, he bent down to the child's height and picked the toy up, handing it to him. "Is this yours, young man?" he asked. The boy's bright blue eyes shot up to meet his and Arthur felt a tug of nostalgia in his heart. Once upon a time, Alfred and Mattheiu were only that small too - Now they were nations of their own, all grown up and independent._

"_Yes!" The boy nodded excitedly, taking back the toy that was offered to him. _

"_Are you hurt?" Arthur offered his hand to help the boy back up to his feet, quickly looking over him to make sure that he didn't have a bruise or a scrape on him. "You should really watch where you're going, though. You don't want to end up hurting someone else - Or worse - You'll end up hurting yourself!"_

"_I'm sorry," the boy muttered under his breath, looking guilty._

"_It's alright," Arthur managed a smile, slightly regretting his reprimanding tone. "Now, where is your mother, young man?"_

"_I... Umm..." the boy looked around nervously, which made the English man's paternal instincts go on high alert, "I don't remember. Matt and me turned down a street while we were playing and -" Blue eyes turned to look towards green ones, "Uh-Oh."_

_Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Don't worry, I'll help you find your mum, okay?"_

"_For real?" The boy looked like he could explode with delight. "Exactly like Alfred," a voice inside his head rang and the next thing he knew, a pair of small arms wrapped around his legs, "Thank you, Mr. Stranger sir! My mum won't like that I was talking to a stranger, but you're a nice guy!" _

_The Brit laughed, instinctively ruffling the boy's hair. "Okay. Let's get looking... But first, we should probably try and find... What was his name - Matt, you said?" _

"_Yep! He's my brother!" the blonde boy nodded enthusiastically. _

"_Freddie!"_

_Both Arthur and the child looked to the end of the street to see another little boy running towards them. As he got closer, Arthur had to suppress a gasp for the boy looked exactly like his Mattheiu. The same purple eyes and short wavy blonde lockes... The coincidence was enough to leave the nation speechless. _

"_Matt!" the boy named Freddie exclaimed._

"_I thought I lost you!" Matt whined, "I was running and running and I thought you were right behind me - But when I looked you were gone!"_

"_Sorry, Matt," Freddie grinned sheepishly, "I kind of fell. But it's okay! I met him! The nice stranger guy! He's going to take us back to mum!"_

_Arthur knew that a wary glance from Matt was coming because it's exactly how Mattheiu would have acted if he had been in the same situation. He felt like someone was playing a joke on him right now - either that or fate just had some weird twisted way of forcing you to look back on things that you tried to bury in the back of your mind. When he brought his attention back to the two boys, however, they were already in the middle of a whispered argument. _

"_Freddie, you're not supposed to talk to strangers!"_

"_Yeah but he's nice!"_

"_Doesn't matter! Mum said that strangers can pretend to be nice and then be mean later!"_

"_But he's going to help us find mum, how is that mean?"_

"_Yeah but-"_

"_Boys!" Arthur interrupted, "Don't worry, I really do intend to help you find your mum-" he stopped, watching as Freddie mouthed 'I told you so' to his brother, before he chose to continue, "She must be worried sick. Now, tell me where you last saw her."_

"_I think it was at the square,"_

"_No, we were by the coffee shop, Freddie!"_

"_Oh yeah! But which one though?"_

_The British nation couldn't help but smile. It was like stepping back in time and for a rare moment he could almost imagine himself sitting in that house that they all once shared. Alfred and Mattheiu would be in a banter like Freddie and Matt, while he sat down at his desk, tending to some important paperwork. Meanwhile, the scent of fresh roasted veal wafted through the house along with the tune of an old French song sung by a certain country's husky tone -_

_A high pitched whistling noise drew Arthur out of his thoughts, his green eyes widening in recognition. He knew that sound. He knew it far too well - Memories of the first World war coming into his mind. He looked towards the two boys, _

"_GET DOWN!" _

_One moment, time seemed to move slower as Arthur lunged after the kids, shielding them from what was about to happen - Another second later and world was thrown back into normal time and the deafening sound of an explosion rang out through the city. _

_Arthur grunted as he was thrown back by the shock of the explosion, landing on the ground with a painful crash. His ears were ringing and everything around him seemed dull and muffled save for the excruciating pain that suddenly decided to bloom in his chest. Every breath he drew in seemed like it wasn't making it to his lungs - And it wasn't just due to the dust and smoke. _

_Something was wrong._

_Someone was attacking his country - No. No just his county._

_They went straight for his heart. _

_The sound of crying forced him back to the present and he remembered the two children that were curled in his arms. The nation scurried to sit up, still breathing raggedly, but at the moment, he was far more concerned for the children's well being than his own. _

"_Are you two okay?!" He demanded from them, but neither answered. Freddie was screaming his lungs off, finger pointing at something, while Mattheiu sat frozen, his tiny frame shaking. Turning his gaze upwards, Arthur gulped down the bile that threatened to rise at the sight of a dismembered arm lying in front of where they were. He put his hands over both of the boys' eyes and pulled them close to him, ignoring Freddie's hysterical kicking and flailing. _

_He needed to get these two out of here. Fast. _

"_Freddie... Fred- Freddie- Freddie listen to me!" he raised his voice, which caused the boy to pause his hysterics for a second, "Freddie, I need you to pull yourself together now okay?! We have to get out of here, right now!"_

"_B-B-B-Bu-B-But...!" Freddie raised a shaking finger to point at the arm and was ready to burst into another fit of crying when Arthur pulled him close to his chest again. _

"_I know, I know. I'm sorry," he whispered as soothingly as he could, "It's not safe out here at the moment. We have to get somewhere safe, okay?" He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, "I... I need you to be a hero right now, okay?"_

_A fire seemed to light in the boy's eyes at the mention of the H-word, and despite still looking frightened, Freddie stood up on shaky legs and Arthur followed in suit, scooping up the still catatonic Matt in his arms. "Come on!" Taking Freddie's hand, they ran down the street, headed for the nearest underground station. _

_Before long, more sharp whistling sounds came from the sky, followed by a chain of explosions. Each bomb that went off sent a white hot shot of pain in the nation's chest - but he couldn't stop running. Not until he got Freddie and Matt to a safe place. All around them, what once was laughter turned into screams of terror as they tried to run for cover. More loud blasts resounded through the capital coupled with the piercing sound of exploding glass and the sickening squelch of bodies being torn apart - _

"_Sir!"_

_Arthur fell to his knees, thrown into a heavy coughing fit, blood dripping from his mouth. The agonizing pain in his chest had become so unbearable that he simply had to stop. His vision became clouded with black spots and for a minute, Arthur was scared that he would actually faint. No. No he can't. If he did, both of these boys would die. And he wouldn't forgive himself if they did. _

"_S-Sir come on! We have to keep going!" he could feel the boy desperately tugging on his arm. Composing himself as best as he could, the nation wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He couldn't even get up - Every part of him seemed to be on fire right now. He managed to raise his head, a wave of relief going through him when he saw that the underground was right ahead. _

"_F-Freddie," Arthur choked out, "Take Matt... Head to the underground and go right down to the train plat... Platform. Y-You two will be safe there," He held back a cough, "Just... Just follow... Guard's instructions, okay?"_

"_B-But what about you?" Freddie pleaded, utterly frightened, "Here... It's not... You can't-!"_

"_GO!" he yelled, the whistling having come back, "Take Matt and go!"_

"_But sir-!"_

"_Oh goddamn your stubbornness, America!" Arthur held his tongue after that. He didn't mean to say that and yet he did, surprising both him and Freddie. "Take your brother and leave, Freddie. Hurry." When the boy didn't budge, the nation managed a small smile, "I'll be right behind you, don't worry."_

_Arthur felt relieved when Freddie finally nodded. He crossed over to where he had dropped Matt and slowly got his still shocked brother onto his feet. Stealing one more glance at the strange green eyed man, Freddie took Matt's hand and quickly bolted for the underground entrance._

_The English nation sighed, which turned into another cough, blood dripping between his fingers, the burning sensation in his chest coming back tenfold. Using whatever strength he had, he turned his blurry vision to the gray sky and saw planes flying ahead. Arthur felt a surge of anger run through his system. How dare those bastards? How dare they think they could just fly into his airspace and decide to harm his people? He needed to get back to Churchill so they could put an end to this bullshit soon-_

_A new high pitched whistle sounded and Arthur felt dread drop to the bottom of his stomach like a block of lead. That sound was too close... Way too close. With a horrified look, he looked right up ahead, to where the underground station entrance was located. Freddie stood at the entrance, holding Matt's hand and they were both looking at him. _

"_Dad-!"_

_A mortified scream tore itself free from Arthur's throat as the station entrance was blown to bits by the bomb, creating a mess of gray concrete and crimson blood -_

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><p>Arthur gasped, his eyes shooting open, breathing heavy. He tried to lift his head, but when he tried, a wave of pain coursed through his entire body - Enough to make him cry out quietly.<p>

"Easy there, boy!"

His soldier's instincts were telling him to get up and run, until the voice registered in his mind. Green eyes darted to the figure that was now leaning over his bedside and Arthur found himself staring at a man with a bowler hat and a familiar kind face. "C-Churchill," the nation gasped out, short of breath.

"Yes," the British minister smiled at his nation, "Glad to have you back on the side of the living, Arthur."

Arthur scoffed at the comment, which made his leader smile even wider. "How long was I out?" He asked, managing to raise the hand that wasn't in a sling to run through his now greasy hair.

"About a week,"

"A WHAT?!" Arthur shot up from bed, only to howl in agony, his free hand flying over his heart, which he now noticed was wrapped in bandages. Just how wounded was he? Churchill made a 'tsk' noise, almost as if he was expecting this to happen.

"Lay back down, Arthur," he commanded, "You're in no shape to be sitting up just yet."

"I've been out for a week?!" the British nation demanded, ignoring his boss' words despite his shortness of breath, "Churchill, what happened since I was out?! How are our troops?! Are we losing or are we winning?! And the people - By the King, how are the people in Lon-"

The Prime Minister grew concerned when Arthur started to have a coughing fit again. He placed two firm, but gentle, hands on his nation's shoulders and slowly eased him back down to his pillows in a half-sitting position. Taking the pitcher of water by the bedside table, he poured some into a glass and handed it to Arthur. The British personification took it gratefully, chugging down the water like he hadn't had any for weeks. His coughing subsided and he sank against the pillows with a weak sigh, handing the glass back to his leader.

"London is..." Churchill paused, "I'm not going to lie, Arthur. London is a mess."

"They were Germans, weren't they?" Arthur seethed, his fist clutching at the blankets. His leader nodded, "Bastards," he spat, the image of a certain pair of German brothers popping into his mind, "Well if they want to play the game that way then fine. Tell me we have a counter-attack already planned-"

"We'll talk about all of that another time, Arthur," Churchill said sternly, to which Arthur looked shocked. He was about to protest but the minister raised a hand to silence him, "First you need to heal. The Blitz attack left you in bad shape, Arthur and I would much rather discuss these issues when you're back to a hundred percent. I assure you that I already have a plan in mind, but don't let this trouble you. For now, focus on getting better."

"I will not sit by here while some German pigs unleash hell on _my _people!" Arthur thundered, banging his free fist on the bed, eyes blazing with rage that threatened to melt through the green lens. Not a while after, he brought his hand up to cover his mouth as he began to cough violently again.

Churchill sighed. Once the stubborn nation has made up his mind, it would take a century's worth of convincing to get him to see otherwise. And right now, he thought that it would just do a lot more harm than good to tire Arthur out with some arguing. He waited until Arthur's fit had subsided before passing him another glass of water. "I'm having a meeting right now in my office," he started after a pause, earning a confused look from the nation. Arthur certainly did not expect his boss to agree right away. "If you are truly feeling well enough to attend-"

"I am well enough," Arthur huffed confidently.

"Fine," Chruchill said, a small ghost of a smile on his face as he got up from the bed. If Arthur was determined, then that had to be a good sign. Afterall, even though personifications had thoughts and feelings of their own, their mood and mindset also reflected those of their people. "But if you're going to go down there, you need to be in a wheelchair,"

"W-Wha-!?" Arthur looked shocked, "N-No! I'm not going to-"

"You're hardly in any condition to sit up, what makes you think you can walk?" the leader crossed his arms, "Besides, Doctor Clark will be on both my and your arse if he finds out that you've been exerting yourself,"

"Hmph," the British nation huffed. He supposed it was better than staying in here and being confined in this bedroom all day. "Alright. Just this once,"

"Would you like me to call Taylor in to help you dress?"

Arthur looked up at the mention of the nurse's name. "Y-Yes," he sputtered out, looking away to prevent his boss from seeing the pink tinge on his cheeks. Normally, he would refuse all help and would insist on doing things on his own, but he had to admit - He would need the help.

"Very well," the British prime minister nodded, disappearing out of the door.

A few moments later and Arthur was dressed in his full military dress uniform with only one arm in the sleeve while the other draped over his shoulder since the sling wouldn't allow him to slip his arm into the sleeve. He looked at himself in the mirror, detesting the fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair right now. Even _he _thought he looked weak and pitiful in this state. Then again, he bet his money that he looked better now than he did half an hour ago.

"Sir,"

He looked up and saw Taylor standing behind him, holding out a medal in his hands. "Thank you," Arthur said, taking the Victoria Cross gingerly from the nurses' hands. He looked at it and he could feel the weight of all the sacrifices in this one piece of metal right here. With resolve, the nation unclasped the pin from the back and tried his best to pin it onto himself. Taylor stepped forward to help, only to stop when the nation gave him a look that said 'I want to do this myself'.

Not a moment too soon, it was pinned right over his heart and despite himself, Arthur managed to muster up a smile. "Are you ready, sir?" Taylor asked from behind him.

"Yes, Taylor," he nodded, and the nurse took it as his queue to grab the handles of the wheelchair and wheel the wounded nation out of his bedroom. Arthur looked around the pristine hallways and for a second, they morphed into the gray, smoky skies of London, causing his heart to leap to his throat. The cleanliness and the neatness of this place felt wrong and foreign to him, especially when the city outside was a mess. The image before his eyes shifted again and he could feel his breathing getting strained inhaling the imaginary smoke and dust that surrounded the place.

His heart almost stopped. In the distance he could see the subway entrance and there stood the two boys from his nightmare, Freddie still clasping tightly onto Matt's hand, both of them still looking right at him. He wanted to tell them to run inside but the words were stuck in his throat. The high pitched whistle rang in his ears -

"Sir Kirkland?"

Immediately, the scene was replaced by the lift doors. Arthur blinked before glancing up at Taylor who was looking at him with concern. "Are you quite alright? You seem to have some trouble breathing..."

"I..." Arthur took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to the lift which has now opened.

"Do you wish to be sent back to your quarters?"

"N-No," the nation shook his head. _Get a hold of yourself, Arthur. _"I'm fine, Taylor. Let's head for Churchill's office - I'd hate to think that we're keeping dignitaries waiting."

Obediently, the nurse wheeled him into the lift before pressing the button to head down to the main floor. Arthur sighed, leaning his head on his hand for a moment. That little episode he had just left him light-headed. He was thankful that Churchill forced him into a wheelchair or else he was sure he would have fainted by now. _Pull yourself together, Arthur. _He ordered himself in his mind. _Many more people will die if you don't. _

A small _'ding!' _signalled their arrival to the main floor and Taylor wheeled him out of the lift. Arthur gulped silently, his mind still in a state of panic after that hallucination he experienced. It bothered him how much the two boys from his dream looked so much like his own sons. _"Is it a premonition?" _He asked himself, his stomach twisting into knots, _"No. No, they're safe. Matthieu and Alfred are far away from this insanity, they're fine." _The attempt to calm his rampant thoughts was futile.

Though both of his sons were now independent nations, it didn't change the fact that Arthur still loved them dearly and it made him angry at himself to think that they might have been hurt because _he _was down. He lost Francis. He wasn't going to lose his boys too.

But he wasn't going to lose them, because they're on another side of the world, where they're safe and sound. If he can get his act together and stop this damn war before it gets there he would -

"Yeah, I'd be totally willing to help out any way that I can,"

Arthur drew in a sharp intake of breath upon recognizing that voice. Could it be? No... No it can't. Why would he be here? He wasn't safe here, that idiotic boy. Taylor knocked on the door gently and the conversation beyond came to a halt. The nurse pushed the door open and at once, Arthur was filled with a weird mix of both relief and anxiety.

"E-England?" Arthur didn't miss the hint of surprise in his tone. "Y-You're -"

"What are you doing here?!" a part of him worried that Alfred might mistake his tone for not wanting him to be there. Green eyes burning with paternal protectiveness darted to his leader who sat behind the desk, "Churchill, what is the meaning of this?! We're not asking for help from other nations-"

"He didn't ask," Alfred cut in abruptly. "I offered," He saw his father start to open his mouth and he knew if he didn't interrupt again, it would be a very long time before he would get to talk again. Almost as if he and Churchill had the same thing in mind, the British leader interrupted;

"England, we need America," he stated with such decisiveness that it was just daring Arthur to combat his point, "We need his resources and his supplies if we want to stand a chance against the German Army!"

"Well I refuse!" Arthur demanded. "Our people are more than capable of handling a war on their own!" _I don't want to drag him into this mess, _"This is a European matter and there's no reason for him to get involved!"

"Oh swallow your damn pride, England!"

The room was filled with a tense silence as a stare down happened between the Empire and its old colony. He knew this was coming - It was his dad after all. His dad was the one who would rather go down fighting solo rather than swallow his pride and accept help. "I came all the way here as soon as I heard about the Blitz because I knew that you need my help and I needed to know if you're-!"

"And I don't want it!' _I want you and your brother to be as far away from this hell as possible_, "I want you to go back home. We're doing fine! You don't have to get involved in this, America!"

"England! Stop being-"

"I'm not a child anymore for Christ's sake!" the American nation cut in, effectively silencing the British leader before he could get his point across. Clearly this is a battle between the two nations now - Which is exactly why he would have preferred Arthur to stay in bed. "You can't tell me what I can and can't get involved in!"

"I can if it's _my _country!" Arthur retorted. God, of all the things Alfred inherited from him, it _had _to be his persistence. "Now I want you to go back where you came from. Thank you for coming, but this conversation is over-"

"Papa is gone!"

The heavy silence settled in the room again after Alfred's exclamation. For a moment the American regretted bringing it up since no doubt, the fall of France was still a fresh wound to many - especially his dad - but he couldn't take it back now. "And if you think Mattheiu and I are going to stand by idly while they have him captive and have you under fire, then you've got another thing coming!"

Arthur felt his heart clench when he heard Alfred's voice crack in the middle of his spiel. He wasn't blind. He knew he needed the help to fight off the damned Axis Powers, but he would get it from someone - Anyone but his two boys. "Go home, Alfred," he muttered quietly.

"But-!"

"I SAID GO HO -"

Arthur suddenly doubled over, stopping mid-sentence as he was overcome by a fit of coughing. Alfred left his spot beside the desk and was immediately knelt down beside his father's wheelchair, face etched with concern.

"H-Hey! Dad... Dad!" the younger nation said, looking more and more panicked when what seemed to be minutes passed and still, the British nation wouldn't stop coughing so much that his pale skin started to have tinges of blue. "Dad! Dad - Breathe, okay? Just breathe!"

"Taylor, go get Dr. Clark!" Churchill barked the order at the nurse who ran out of the office at once. "Arthur?" he placed a hand on the coughing nation's shoulder, "Arthur, come on, boy - Breathe,"

"Dad, come on!" Alfred whimpered. He hated seeing his father, a man so strong, be in so much pain. Arthur tried to pull in a breath, but it just didn't seem to be reaching his lungs. He felt the room spin and the world go black as he went limp in Alfred's arms.

"Dad?" Alfred whispered shakily, feeling his panic rise when the other didn't stir, "DAD?!"

"By God, he's unconscious," the prime minister clicked his tongue, "Alfred, bring him over to the couch over there -"

Alfred didn't need to be told twice. He gently picked the British nation off of his wheelchair and carried him over to the sofa, setting him down gently while Churchill got called off by someone by the door. Thankfully, some of the colour had come back to his face, but his eyes still remained closed - And that scared Alfred more than he'd like to admit.

"Dad, wake up..." the words escaped him before he could stop them. "Dad, please..."

He heard that the Blitz had been bad but he didn't think that his father would be in this bad of a state. Alfred couldn't remember a time when Arthur looked as terrible as he did now.

"You..."

The American perked up at the sound of his father's voice and blue eyes met green once more. "Jeez, you... You gave us a scare," he smiled, expecting a witty retort but instead he found himself pulled into a hug.

"You're not safe here..." Arthur mumbled into his son's shoulder, hugging him tighter, "I'm not going to drag you and your brother into this mess! I refuse, I absolutely refu-!"

"It's... It's okay," Alfred held his father tighter too, finally understanding the Brit's insistence on him going home, "Dad it's okay. We can talk about this another time, for now you have to rest-"

"I lost Francis..." the younger cringed at how much regret was laced into those three words, "I lost him, I lost him... I can't lose you and Mattheiu too."

"You won't. Roosevelt isn't putting troops on the ground. We're just helping you out with supplies and ammunition - To help you get better. I'm not fighting - Not just yet," Alfred gave Arthur his most re-assuring smile, "And we didn't lose Papa for good, Dad. You'll get him back."

"You... You called me dad,"

Alfred blinked, confused. "Y-Yeah, I've called you that a few times now,"

Arthur stared back at his old charge, hearing Freddie's voice in his mind yell out 'Dad!' just as the bomb blew the subway entrance to bits. He shook his head, forcing the horrific memory out of his mind.

"Dad?"

"I'm fine," Arthur shook his head, pulling himself up to a half sitting position. Alfred sighed with a roll of his eyes. Ever the stubborn one, his father was - Then again, it beat him being quiet and unconscious.

"I... I know things aren't... The best between you and me - Between... Between any of us, really..." the American nation confessed after a pause, "But you're still our dad - _my _dad," he gulped, "I'm not a kid any more. I can take care of myself! You don't have to carry everything on your own because I want to help you! I'll be careful, I promise. I'll think before I do something, I'll-"

Alfred stopped his rant when he felt a hand land on his head and began ruffling his hair. How long has it been since his dad had done that? "Of all the things you could have gotten from me, it just had to be my tenacity, right?"

Arthur chuckled at his son's surprised expression, allowing a small but genuine smile to cross his face. Maybe he should reconsider Alfred's offer - Especially now that he re-assured him that he would only be there to help him in terms of supplies and not in terms of fighting. His son was a man, an independent nation - It was high time he started treating him like one. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped when Churchill re-entered the room, pushing the wheelchair, with whom he guessed was Dr. Clark in tow.

"Another bombing happened in a different town," the British minister grumbled tiredly, "Which might explain - Oh! Arthur- I mean, England- You're awake!"

"I should have known we weren't going to be able to keep you in bed for very long, Mr. Kirkland!" Dr. Clark crossed his arms, unable to keep the impressed tone out of his voice. The British nation scoffed and the doctor smirked before his expression dropped to a serious look, "But I insist that you go back to bed, at least until tomorrow,"

Arthur wanted to protest, but he was immediately silenced by the three pairs of warning gazes that were focused on him. "Fine," he sighed, defeated. Smiling, Dr. Clark took the wheelchair from Churchill and wheeled it over beside the couch. He helped the injured blonde man off the couch and onto the chair before finally wheeling him away. Churchill and Alfred both watched with some awe at the fact that Arthur wasn't putting up as big of a fight over going back to bed as they were expecting.

"Wait-" Looks like they spoke too soon. Dr. Clark stopped in his tracks as his patient looked over his shoulder to glance at the other nation. "Make sure those supplies are shipped here by tomorrow morning, America," Arthur smirked at the shocked gasps that came from both his boss and Alfred.

"So does this mean you agree to this, England?" Churchill inquired. Arthur turned his head to face forward once more.

"I want to be the first to test out those American made bullets when I blow those damned Germans out of my sky first thing in the morning,"

Alfred stood stunned for a moment before his frown morphed into a huge grin. "You bet," he said with a determined strength in his tone. Father and son exchanged another look before Dr. Clark took England away. Alfred could have sworn he saw a look in his father's eyes - A look that he hadn't given him since the Revolutionary War.

Arthur looked proud of him.

"Well, that certainly was a twist!" Churchill mused beside the young nation, "I wonder what got him to change his mind... Anyway, shall we start arranging the necessary paperwork?"

"Yes, sir." Alfred replied with a firm nod, following the British leader back to his desk.

"_I won't let you down, dad."_

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><p><strong>I simply had to finish this before I went to bed because it would bug me the whole night if I didn't. XD<br>Just a nice father-son moment between England and America based on the fact that America offered to help Britain out after the Blitz. There are some inaccuracies here when it comes to the real History because by now Canada is already involved in the war.  
>I really think that the Blitz left Arthur weakened, coupled with the fact that his hubby was now in German hands. Fear not Arthur, Francis is probably a part of the underground resistance now or something XD<strong>

**Thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter! Please tell me what you think, I really do appreciate it! :)**


	3. Brothers

**Warnings: Language, Sensitive Material (Hitler, brief mention/implication of the Holocaust), Historical Inaccuracies!**

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><p>It was a cold night over Berlin, but that didn't seem to bother the lone figure that stood on one of the building's roofs. Gilbert didn't even attempt to draw his already open coat closer to him as a biting wind gust blew by, tossing wisps of his silvery white hair into the air. Instead, he brought up a pale hand to take a drag out of the cigarette clipped to his teeth. He breathed in deep, letting the toxic fumes fill his mouth and his lungs before blowing it out and watched it get carried away by the wind.<p>

He was never one for smoking - Hell, alcohol usually did the trick - But recently it was the only thing that could take his mind off of the mess all around him. Although he would never smoke in front of Ludwig or anybody else, after all, he had a big brother image to keep up. So whenever he would start to feel troubled, he'd come up to one of the many rooftops and burn though a pack of 17 in one sitting. Deep in his heart he knew it was a stupid sentiment since Ludwig was far from the little boy that he raised and he smoked now too.

_Ludwig..._

Gilbert let his brother's name sit in his head for a while, taking another drag from the cigarette. When exactly did he stop being the boy who climbed into his bed when a thunderstorm hit and started being the stoic, impassive man that he was now? Gilbert had trouble pinpointing an exact moment. He would have no problem admitting that he was still proud of his little brother - if only he didn't follow every word of their stupid, shitty boss' orders down to the last letter.

The Prussian nation sighed, glaring at the finished cigarette he held in his hand. He quickly snuffed it out and tossed the butt to the side, his hand immediately diving for the pack he kept in his pocket. Now, he absolutely hated arguing with Ludwig - Especially since Gilbert knew that in a serious argument both of them tended to let his mouth run faster than his brain (which more often than not resulted in hurtful comments being thrown around)- Still, against his will, the memory of their recent squabble came to his mind. He lifted a shaking hand with a lighter to light the new stick and once again welcomed the poisonous vapour into his system.

Breathe in...

"_Why did you go along with it?! "_

"_I was just following orders!" Ludwig boomed, frustrated, narrowing his blue eyes at his brother, "Just like you should have been doing but instead you decided to skip out-"_

_Gilbert's red eyes flared with anger, banging his fist onto the wooden desk so hard that it left a small dent. "I follow every single fucking order that man gives me but I have the decency to think for myself and at the very least be considerate of other's feelings-"_

"_Considerate?" Ludwig scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at Gilbert. "You were the one who raised me with the mindset of total obedience to your leader! You told me that feelings had no place in the battlefield and all that mattered was that you do as you're told! Isn't that what I'm doing?!"_

"_I didn't raise you to just nod at your boss like you're his yes man!" the albino yelled over his Ludwig's already loud voice, "I told you to follow, but to offer suggestions - To speak up if you felt like there was something that could be done better! A country is a leader's partner - Not his fucking lapdog!" Gilbert heard his own voice waver in the middle of his heated tirade, "Gottverdammnt- Gottverdammnt, Ludwig! You know how much that... That place meant to me!"_

"_It was just a grave, Gil-"_

_Gilbert had to pause for a moment, a grin spreading to his face as if Ludwig just told a joke. "Just a grave?" he said softly and in an instant his hand swept across the desk, sending pencil pots and folders clattering to the floor, much to Ludwig's shock. "JUST A MOTHERFUCKING GRAVE, LUDWIG?! Have you perhaps forgotten who the fuck is buried there?!"_

"_You act as if they went and stomped all over his grave or something!" Ludwig shook his head, running a hand through his slicked back hair, "Gilbert, the orders were to merely re-locate Frederick der Große's casket to somewhere where it will be safe-"_

"_Safe my ass- Where does the fuhrer want to keep it? Oh yeah, that's right- A fucking salt mine! It was safe where it was!" Gilbert waved his hands in an exasperated manner, "You didn't even listen when I tried to tell our Fuhrer to at least move it to Sanssouci! Or all those other times I tried to say something else because I knew what our _precious _leader was thinking of doing was some fucked up shit, you took his side over mine!" _

"_Now you're just acting like a child!" Ludwig spat, slamming both of his hands down on the desk as well, "You always trotted around, proud to declare that you were a soldier - Well I don't see a soldier in front of me right now. I see a whining, cowardly _jungen _who wants to put his personal ideals above those of his leader's! If you're so proud of being a soldier, then start fucking acting like one!"_

_A tense silence hung in the air, both brothers having their mouths agape - Ludwig out of shock at what he had just said; Gilbert stung by his brother's accusations. Coward. His little brother, who once called him brave and strong, just threw the word in his face for trying to stand up for what he thought was right. It hurt - It hurt him more than he could try to put into words. He could see the slow forming regret in his brother's blue eyes, but he didn't care at the moment._

"_I'm done here," he muttered with a strong sense of finality._

"_Bruder-"_

"_Don't you bruder me!" He jabbed a finger in his brother's direction, "If kissing a dictator's ass is what you call being a soldier and a nation then fine! Be my fucking guest!" The albino turned his back and started towards the door before stopping right before he exited. "But I was taught to be a different kind of country and soldier. Yes, I obey my superiors. Yes, my Ki- Leader's will is my will. But I think for myself and on behalf of my people and I know the difference between good warfare and just plain carnage. I thought I raised you the same way. Guess my lessons didn't matter, _bruder_."_

Breathe out.

Gilbert closed his eyes, letting the sharp memory just fade back to the back of his mind where it once was. Maybe a small part of him was still angry at Ludwig, but that part paled in comparison to the part of him that was worried about him. He leaned on the railings, watching as the lights from the city went off one by one as it started to drift off to sleep. Gilbert needed to get Ludwig to see - He needed him to open his eyes to the atrocities that their boss was committing against humanity as a whole. He needed something, _anything _to prove to himself that Ludwig didn't actually agree to these horrible things that have been happening.

But how could he when they weren't even on speaking terms with each other right now? Another freezing gust of wind blew by as the Prussian nation looked up to the star-studded sky above, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "He's just as stubborn as you were, you know?" He whispered to the heavens, "_Mein Gott_, Fritz, what should I do? Lud's a good kid and all, but he has to see what's really going on. This ... This isn't war - War is the glory of running through a battlefield, soldier vs. soldier, not this _Scheiße _that includes killing innocent men, women and children! Children for Christ's sake..." He felt his already white-knuckle grip tighten on the rails, taking another puff of smoke, "If you're feeling up to it, d'you mind asking the big guy a favour for me? Just to give me a little-"

"_Preußen?"_

Gilbert didn't even have time to finish his sentence when he turned around to look at the owner of the voice. Ludwig was standing at the entrance to the stairwell, wrapped up in his scarf and black coat, looking reluctant to come closer to his brother. The albino blinked, turning away to put out his cigarette. _Gott, you are awesome, Fritz! _"Mm?" came his simple reply, just to let Ludwig know his words weren't falling on deaf ears. He wasn't going to let his brother know that he was going to crawl back to him that easily.

"I... I thought you'd be up here," the younger of the German brothers mumbled into his scarf. Gilbert found it strange because Ludwig didn't mumble.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting or something?"

"I... I was just at one,"

Gilbert kept his gaze focused on the city lights even as he heard footsteps slowly coming towards him. From the corner of his eye, he could see his brother's figure lean on the rails, a good few feet of space between them. When he caught sight of the black and blue mark that marred his face, every other trace of anger towards Ludwig left Gilbert immediately. "Lud, your face-!" He laid a hand on his brother's cheek, only to watch him flinch away from the sudden contact.

"Yeah," Ludwig muttered, eyes looking away from his brother.

"Who did this?" Gilbert snarled, although he already knew the answer to that question, "I swear to _Gott, _I'm going to kill-!"

"Brude - I mean-"

"It's okay, Lud. I'm not mad anymore," Gilbert said firmly, "Well I am. Not at you though, at the fucker who-!"

"Bruder, _bitte,_" the German nation _pleaded. _Now if there were two things Ludwig didn't do, it was mumble and plead. And so far he's done both of them in the less than 5 minutes time he was up here so there must be something more to the story.

"What happened?" Gilbert prodded gently, doing his best to squash down the burning rage in him so Ludwig could tell him what he wanted to tell him. Ludwig opened his mouth to talk, but then quickly shut it again, like he was debating whether or not to tell his brother. "Lud, don't worry. It's just you and me up here, okay? Nobody will know,"

A few moments of silence passed before the younger one finally broke it with a sigh, "I went to the meeting with the Fuhrer today while you were off talking to the other generals," Ludwig started to tell, shoving his hands into his coat pockets in an effort to keep them warm. "I assumed it would have been at the normal meeting place, but instead I got picked up from the house by a couple of SS officers. Apparently the Fuhrer wanted me to go check up on some new 'developments'" he paused, as if the word 'developments' was going to make him lose whatever's in his stomach.

"So?"

"So we drove to one of those camps and- _Gott..." _Ludwig put a hand to his forehead, his eyes wide and terrified. Gilbert hasn't seen that look in them since he woke up to the same terrified face after being out cold for a week due to an injury. "We were under the impression that they were work camps - But lord, they're not, Gilbert! - The women and children... They're all as thin as sticks! There are lines where they separate the physically able and those who aren't and those that weren't were shot! It didn't- It didn't matter if it was a grown man or a child, they were killed! And the worst part is, people were being shepherded into fucking gas chambers and-"

Gilbert didn't wait for Ludwig to finish as he pulled him into a tight hug, running a hand through his hair like he always did when his brother was scared. Ludwig didn't fight against it like he usually would, instead he did something he hadn't done for a long time - He willingly let his head rest on Gilbert's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him as well.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, _kleiner bruder," _Gilbert whispered, still in shock himself. He knew that the conditions in those camps were terrible, but he never thought they had already resorted to mass genocide.

"I recognized some of their faces," Ludwig muttered into his brother's shoulder, shutting his eyes to keep the tears in, "Some of them were people that I wrangled up under orders... And I didn't even _ask _what they were doing to them," the German grit his teeth, "I was furious after that. I wasn't thinking straight. I demanded to be driven back to meet the Fuhrer. I asked him what the hell he was doing to those people and - Ugh. I can't believe I followed him so blindly - And when I started to oppose he... He struck me."

Ludwig pulled away from the hug to raise a hand to his cheek. Gilbert was doing all that he could to not scream for his boss to go fuck himself right there and then. Nobody hurt his little brother. He didn't care if they were his leader, a fellow nation or a human - If they hurt Ludwig, they would pay one way or another.

"_Schwien-" _Gilbert growled, channelling as much hate as he could muster into that one word. "That dirty, disgusting son of a bitch-"

"_Es tut mir leid, bruder," _Ludwig spoke, cutting off what would have been a very heated rant,"I should have trusted your word above his. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say the things that I did a couple of nights ago,"

"Hey, don't get all soft on me now-" Gilbert cracked a joke, lightly hitting his brother on the arm. "It's okay, apology accepted,"

In spite of himself, Ludwig still smiled. He looked out into the city and Gilbert followed his lead, his hand going into his coat pocket to grab a stick. Pulling two out, he clipped one between his teeth and offered the other to his brother, much to the other's surprise. Gilbert raised a brow, silently asking Ludwig whether he wanted it or not. In reply, the cigarette was snatched from his fingers, which prompted a smile from the elder brother. Ludwig procured a lighter from his own pocket and lifted it towards his brother first so he could light his stick first before lifting it up to his own cigarette.

Silence passed between the brothers as they stood out there in the cold air, just smoking and enjoying each other's company. "What do we do?"

Gilbert looked at his brother and took a drag, "I don't know," he said honestly with a sigh, "I know. The Awesome Me is rarely out of ideas, but I'm completely stumped here. I don't want _him _to completely take over the world - Good lord, that would be a nightmare for all of us. But at the same time, we can't exactly just hand ourselves over to the Allies. What would that spell for our troops? After what our boss has done to them, I doubt they'd be eager to let us go so easily,"

"Mm," Ludwig nodded, looking grim as he took a puff from his cigarette.

"We'll figure something out," the white haired brother shrugged, "One way or another. If we can't stop it altogether, maybe we can at least do something to make it a little less horrid,"

"I don't understand how you can still be so optimistic, bruder," Ludwig shook his head. Gilbert let out a laugh, clasping his brother on the back.

"Someone has to be the happy one between the both of us," he laughed.

The blonde chuckled, "I suppose." He tapped the cigarette, letting the ashes fall down to the ground. "And bruder,"

"Yeah?"

"When this... This whole war is done and over with," Ludwig gestured at nothing in particular, meeting his brother's gaze so Gilbert knew that he was being serious, "I promise we'll take _Konig Frederick_'s casket to Sanssouci," he saw his brother's eyes widen but still chose to continue, "I... I know how much he meant to you, I mean, you only told me about him every night when I was young. Again, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have agreed to that,"

"What's done's been done, _kleiner bruder_," Gilbert smiled, "But thank you. That... That means a lo - ACHOO!"

Ludwig blinked at his brother's sneeze, blue eyes widening when he realized for the first time that his brother wasn't at all as bundled up as he was. "_DUMMKOPF!" _he thundered, "What the hell were you thinking?! Coming up here with just an open coat and no scarf or gloves when it's this cold outside?!"

"It wasn't as cold as it is now!" Gilbert retorted, pulling the coat closer to himself, Ludwig sighed, unwrapping his scarf before unceremoniously throwing it in his brother's direction. "L-Lud!"

"Oh just wear it, _bruder._" Ludwig deadpanned.

"No, because then you'll be cold! I'm fine!" Gilbert insisted, shoving the scarf back towards Ludwig. Before the other could protest, Gilbert slung an arm over his brother's shoulders and began walking him towards the stairwell entrance, dropping the nearly exhausted cigarette and stomping it out with his foot, "You know what? Why don't we both just warm up by grabbing a beer, huh? We both need a good pick-me-up after that talk anyway, right? Besides, we need to get some ice for that bruise of yours,"

"As long as you're paying," Ludwig smirked, opening the door for his brother.

"W-Wha?!" the Prussian stared Ludwig before huffing, holding his chin up high. "Alright, fine. I'll buy this time, but only because you promised me something!"

"I was joking. I'll buy it," the German smiled genuinely, rolling his eyes at the excited 'YES!' that Gilbert let out. He watched his brother hop a good few steps ahead of him, shaking his head. He honestly didn't know how Gilbert could keep being - well, Gilbert - in spite of everything that was going on around them. Deep down, Ludwig appreciated his brother's constant smile and in fact, he missed it the past few days. The period of cold shoulders and no talking that followed their explosive argument hurt him more than he'd ever care to admit, so he was extremely happy that now they'd both made up and things were, for the most part, back to normal.

They reached the ground floor of the building and exited onto the streets, now back in step with each other. The both of them had a long, frustrating and not to mention grim road ahead of them, but it would be okay. Yes, it was going to get tough but with his big brother by his side, he knew they'd make it through just fine.

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><p><strong>Finally got this plot bunny out of my system! :D<strong>

**So you guys get a glimpse of the war from Gilbert and Ludwig's point of view, plus a little German Bros fluff! Excuse the historical innacuracies! ^^; I hope you guys liked it though! I love it when I get reviews and I get more motivated to write when I see your lovely comments! :**

**Question: Who would you guys like to see next? **

**Okay, background headcanon time!**

**Prussia didn't like Hitler from the start and he hated him even more when he began to idolize Frederick the Great and twist his image to fit his own (which I think pissed Gilbert off to high heaven). So when I read about Hitler digging up poor Fritz' grave, I imagine Prussia would have gone absolutely ballistic when he found out about the plan.  
>Prussia and Germany didn't approve of the way their boss was handling this war and how he killed and tortured innocent people. Prussia was more obvious and vocal about his disagreement while Germany keeps it to himself in favour of acting like the perfect soldier.<br>The dictator liked Ludwig better between the two of them, mainly because Ludwig was the poster-child for the ideal 'Aryan' - blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect body, the works - and to top it off, he carries out orders without question. He didn't like Gilbert as much because of Gil's strange appearance thanks to his albinism and his tendency to question his superior's order.  
>As you can see, Prussia also talks to Fritz whenever he's stressed or worried. If not that, then aggressive flute playing is a good enough substitute. <strong>


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